My Friend, Tom
by markovgirl
Summary: AU: Voldemort never appeared during the trio's time at Hogwarts. A young girl with a diary is found dead. A chance meeting in the library changes everything. Hogwarts has a new student.
1. Preface

Preface.

AU: Voldemort didn't rise again during Harry's time at Hogwarts. This is their Sixth Year.

Amy Barrowcliffe was proud of her place in the house, and of Ravenclaw's reputation for intelligence. It was her second year at Hogwarts, and she was certainly living up to her house stereotype. Most of her days were spent in the library, face shoved into some old tome that would make her sneeze terribly, or in the Common Room writing another essay. As such, she was quite a lonely girl, with few friends to talk to. The Ravenclaw Common Room was one of the quietest places in Hogwarts, each student appeared lonely in their own way, Amy noticed as she crossed the polished wooden floors. Her fellow students were all sat in individual armchairs, each reading, or writing, or simply staring off into space, deep in thought. She nodded her blonde head toward a girl she knew from Charms, before heading up the stairs to the girls dormitory. Apart from Tom, no-one knew her secrets or guilty pleasures or irks, her likes and dislikes. Tom would always be there for her, even if only on paper. She sat down upon her bed and kicked off her shoes, pulling her feet up to massage her heels. Damn new brogues were a menace, she thought, as she drew the curtains around the four-poster and settled back onto the duvet. Her private time was the thing she most looked forward to these days, it gave her a chance to escape. Quickly, she delved into her the tan, leather book-bag that sat beside her and pulled out a small black book and quill. With a wide smile on her face, she opened the little diary and began to write.

_Hello Tom. _

The words dissolved into the paper slowly, before more blossomed into view, now in a different, beautiful cursive. She closed her eyes and ran her hands gently over the thick parchment of the diary. It had been four months since she found this beautiful, perfect book tucked away on the Library shelves. The way it worked eluded her, but from what she could gather it held the memories and essence of a boy who used to attend Hogwarts years ago. _Tom. _Her handsome gentleman, who wrote to her, comforted her. If only he were real.

_Goodnight, Amy. _

_Goodnight? _

Amy looked down at her watch. It was barely six thirty, the majority of Ravenclaw students hadn't even returned from the Great Hall yet. She usually left dinner a little early when she wished to vent her troubles to the strange little diary. On every other night, Tom would pander to her, telling her she was the most spectacular person he had ever spoken to, that she was special, that he found himself falling for her. He never, ever told her goodnight. New words formed on the page.

_Yes, goodnight, Amy. Sweet dreams. _

The diary in her lap began to vibrate. A strange feeling ran over her body, her blood seemed to turn to ice and, as hard as she tried, her limbs wouldn't move - she was numb. Her eyes still whirled around in their sockets, finally settling on the book in her lap. It was wrenching back and forth, pages fluttering, the edges of the paper almost glowing. Suddenly, something burst from the centre of the paper, stopping the frantic movements of the book dead. A flurry of torn pages rushed at her face, blinding her momentarily. When the madness settled, like fallen leaves onto her lap, Amy looked back toward the book. If she could have mustered a scream, she would have, as pale hands began to claw their way from through the pages, followed by arms, shoulders, and finally a head. Thick black curls, sparkling dark eyes and an arrogant smirk glared back at her horrified face. The boy emerging from the book crawled forward, until his entire body was visible. He was entirely nude, paper white like the pages of the now-closed diary, panting heavily from the excursion of becoming corporeal. His skin seemed to glow with a newborn freshness, he wheezed slightly as if he had never taken a breath before. The movements he made were tentative, he tried to sit back on his feet but wobbled slightly and decided to fall back onto his hands and knees. _Tom. _She had never seen him, but she knew this must be him, who else could have emerged from that book, it did belong to him, after all. He crawled over her body, his legs straddling her hips. By now she could barely feel his presence, but she could see that his skin had stopped glowing, he seemed fuller, more lifelike. The beautiful face smirking above her started to blur, to grow dark and a cold hand stroked her cheek gently as the last of her life left her.

"Sweet dreams," the boy whispered, tilting his head down to plant a kiss on the dead girl's forehead.


	2. Meet

By Godric, she ached - falling asleep in the library seemed like a fantastic idea, but it was rarely practical. It usually ended up with her back being twisted at some uncomfortable angle, causing her to strain her neck and hurt herself awfully by the time she woke up. But it had been so warm and she had been absolutely exhausted, plus, her copy of '_Runes, How To and What For' _looked ever so inviting...

When she finally awoke, the library was in complete darkness and she seemed to have been forgotten about. She cursed herself inwardly - if only Ron and Harry had with her, they might have talked her out from between the bookshelves and dragged her back to the common room before the library had closed. It wasn't too bad a situation, she had been locked in the place before, it was just irritating that she would now be unable to leave before eight the next morning. By her watch it was only ten-thirty now. Her stomach grumbled unhappily, having missed dinner. Hermione frowned, reaching into her bag for the random cereal bar she made sure to carry with her at all times, just in case. At least she got to remain with her beloved books for a little longer, even if she were a little uncomfortable. With a heaving sigh, the girl grabbed her wand from the desk in front of her and began flicked it to light the torches around her. Fire sprang from the golden cups that hung down from the ceiling, sending strange, slightly eerie shadows dancing on the floor.

It had been an odd start to term, she thought. Dumbledore was becoming far more involved in matters outside of Hogwarts these days and was rarely seen in the school anymore - for the past two years, he had only been seen at the Sorting Ceremony for the entire year. A girl had been found deceased but a week ago, curled up in her sheets in her dormitory, no sign of what happened, or who did it - and Dumbledore hadn't even returned! Hermione guessed the man was getting too involved in the Ministry - there had been rumour that the man would give up his position at the school to become Minister, though she didn't believe that Fudge would concede without a fight. They had never gotten on well, those two. Hogwarts and her inhabitants had changed from what she knew as a child - Harry was loved up with Cho Chang, and Ron - well, Ron still paid her no attention. It had been such a long time now, that she doubted things would ever change - her and the red-head would always be friends, no matter how much she wished otherwise. Only Hermione remained the same - ever studious, bushy haired, big-teethed and unrelenting in her pride. Due to this, she didn't seem to fit anywhere, her friends were almost distant to her now - books were her constant, as they always had been.

Hermione pushed herself out of the straight-backed chair she had been taking residence in, gathered her things and headed towards the Restricted Section. Might as well take advantage of her solitude and delve into something a little more captivating. Her interest in the darker side of magic had furthered during the her time at the school and, despite realizing that it was a horror that should not be tampered with, it didn't stop her from simply reading about it. As a girl who craved knowledge, she automatically also craved power, though she frequently told herself that the two could be separated. Hermione understood, since her study of dark magic had progressed, how one could be completely engulfed by it, how it could act as a poison in the blood. For people with purely evil intentions like Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort, dark magic could be corrupting, but she presumed she would be safe. She was almost overly cautious in her approach to the topic, and no matter how great her interest grew, she forced herself to read, and to read alone. No practicing, no wands, no potion brewing, no incantations, nothing, nothing, nothing. It left her mildly hungry, she ached to move from pure theoretical work to the practical, but caution told her to stick to her promise.

Candles flickered on and off, the light following her movements around the library. She didn't wish to ignite every torch in the library, there was really no need and she felt too much light may hurt her eyes on this dim eve. It truly was a strange night, she thought, looking out of the thin glass window that was imbedded in the stone wall beside her. Fog rolled over the Great Lake, twisting and writhing as if it were a living creature. There were no stars, but the sky was such a strange shade of brown that it seemed to light the earth below. Hermione turned away from the window, chomping down the rest of her cereal bar, stomach settling slightly, enough to let her focus on her next read. She reached the Restricted Section, lights flaring up in the strange, hog-shaped torches that flanked the entrance. The Section was fairly small, square, with four bookcases placed around a central aisle. At the end of the room was a large window that covered the near entirety of the wall, below which sat a thick oak desk and a number of squishy leather armchairs. It was strange that the staff had chosen to make this the comfiest looking area, as students were usually limited in their time here. Sighing deeply, the girl swung her leather satchel into the side of one of the armchairs, throwing herself down into the seat simultaneously. She had been planning to get back up and search for something on the patterns used in the creation of Inferi and Necromancy, but there was already a book on the desk in front of her. It lay squarely in the centre of the table, plain black, mottled leather with brassy metal encasing each corner to protect the pages. From what she could see there was no title, no wording on the spine, yet it didn't appear to have lost its dust-cover either. Strange, she thought, reaching towards the unknown book. As her fingers touched the hide of the cover, a strange sensation ran through her body - icy, so cold it neared pain. But something about that strange feeling told her to continue exploring, so she pushed aside the sense of unease that had been crawling over her skin and pulled the book closer to her chest.

Much to her displeasure, the pages were entirely blank. A tap of her wand found no hidden writing, no charms on the things - very odd, indeed. Perhaps, she thought, it was merely a notebook that someone had left here. Still, something inside her, a dangerous little voice in the back of her mind, told her to pick up her quill, set it down, and write.

_Dear Book, are you anything special?_ She wrote. A moment passed as she waited to see if anything would happen, but nothing did. Her neatly formed handwriting stayed on the page. She sighed - there was nothing special about this book.

"Hello?" a voice behind her called out. Hermione jumped, not expecting the sudden sound.

"Cripes, you startled me!" she began, turning around in her seat to view the person behind her. It was a young man, dressed in Hogwarts robes. She couldn't really make out much in the fairly dim light, but he looked to be around the same age as her - why didn't she recognize him? Nothing about his jet black curls, dark eyes, or pale skin was familiar to her. "I didn't realize anyone else was in here at this hour."

"I got locked in," he replied, quietly, as Hermione climbed out of her chair to face him fully. He stepped towards her and nodded his head curtly, sticking out his hand. "I don't believe we've met before, Miss...?"

"Granger, Hermione Granger," she said, placing her hand into his. She jumped slightly at the contact, he was incredibly cold. The same odd feeling that had occurred when she touched the diary began to sneak up the skin of her arm, ceasing as soon as she removed her hand from his. The boy's features twitched into an expression of anger until he hastily rearranged them into a polite smile.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Granger," he said, hand dropping back to his side. "I see you've found my diary, I was just coming back to look for it."

Hermione's eyes flickered to the book on the desk, her writing still visible on the first page. "Oh, that's yours?" she asked. "I'm ever so sorry for writing in it."

"Yes, it's mine. Even has my name on the back," he said, coolly. He leant back against one of the bookshelves behind him, eyes never moving from Hermione as she turned the book over and nodded.

"Tom Marvolo...the rest is a little skewed," she read aloud. Something about that name struck her ask familiar, but she couldn't quite seem to remember it, whenever she tried to focus on any particular memory it seemed to fuzz and distort in her head.

"Smith. I think the stitching has gotten a little warped."

She looked back up at the boy, only really able to see his pale skin standing out starkly in the blackness. His eyes were so dark that they melded with the environment around him, giving his face a shark-like demeanor. He was certainly staring at her as if she were prey. "Well, it's lovely to meet you too, Mr Smith. So, what were you doing in this area of the library so late?"

"Reading about dark magic. I find it very interesting, don't you?" he said, looking down at his hands and raising one up to examine his pristine fingernails. Tom seemed a very arrogant boy, she thought, and very vain. Typical Slytherin, if the badge on his chest were anything to go by. He was rather handsome, with his eerily perfect skin and high, aristocratic features. He must have been praised often for his handsome looks, for he seemed to be used to people staring at him for longer-than-acceptable periods of time. His carved lips twisted upwards into a smirk as he caught her observing him. "Do I have something on my face?"

Hermione blushed and turned away from him, walking away and flopping back down in her armchair. "Sorry, I was just trying to place you, I've never seen you before - are you new?" she asked, hearing his footsteps echoing closer. He sat down in the armchair next to her, flinging his outer robe down to the floor beside him. It fluttered to the ground, but with a sharp look from Tom, rearranged itself into a neat fold. Hermione smiled, nodding towards the garment appreciatively. "That was very clever."

"Magic does make life that bit easier, doesn't it?" he grinned, leaning back and folding his legs neatly over one another. She found herself liking how polished his shoes were. He rested his arms gently on each side of the armchair, his eyes focusing on the vast window in front of him. "And yes, I'm...new. Transfer. I haven't really ventured out of the Slytherin Common Room too much, just to eat, visit the library, general things. It's been hard making any close friends, the Slytherin's don't seem to approve of me all that much."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why would that be, if you don't mind my asking?"

Tom rolled his head against the back of the chair, eyes boring into hers. "Because I'm a half-blood, raised by Muggles."

Hermione's heart went out to him instantly, knowing the pain of being ostracized for the status of blood. Slytherin house was an especially brutal place to be for a halfblood or muggleborn. She reached forward and patted his hand gently, not noticing the alarm that flickered in his eyes. "I'm sorry Tom, I know exactly what you mean. But don't listen to the bastards, they are not worth it," she said, with a reassuring smile. Her fingers retracted from his hand, still uneasy of his icy skin. "I'm surprised those inbred oafs can even string a sentence together!"

Tom stiffened slightly, but let out a short chuckle. "It's fine, I know to ignore them," he assured her.

"Still, if you're having a hard time settling in, you must let me know, I'd be more than happy to be friends," she said, kindness irradiating from her features. Tom smiled back at her politely.

"I would really appreciate that, Miss Granger, thank you."

"Hermione, please. You're very welcome, Mr Smith."

"Tom, please. Now, what time are we to do to pass the time?" he asked, folding his hands together in his lap. Hermione tapped a finger to her lips. She could hardly go back to reading now she had another person alongside her, it would seem rude.

"I'm not sure. I don't suppose reading individually in silence would be much fun, and we have got such a long time to go. Have you any ideas?" she asked.

"Well, you could tell me why I found you in the Restricted Section?" he said, fingers flitting over his curls, sweeping them back into place. He really was tremendously good-looking, how had she never noticed him before? Perhaps, as usual, her head had been stuck in a book. That was what Ron had said to her once.

"_I'm with Lav, now, Hermione. You missed your chance. Maybe if you didn't have your head stuck in a book at all hours of the day you might have noticed me - I'm tired of waiting, I'm sick of it."_

Tom caught her eye again, looking expectant and snapped her from her memories.

"Oh, um. I'm just attempting to expand my knowledge for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Better to know about the stem so as to learn how to stop it before it even begins, or at least that seems the most appro-"

"Purely theoretical, then?" he queried, raising a brow.

"Well, yes. I don't think it right for those sort of things to be explored practically," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

"How will you ever learn their intricate properties if you don't explore them fully? For example, how can you possibly learn the array of antidotes needed to revive those affected by the Blood Boiling Draught when there are so many different nuances in its preparation? You would have a hundred different remedies, rather than one which encompasses all the possibilities," he said, lips drawing up into a smirk.

Hermione frowned and pursed her lips, before replying. The two teens sat for hours, talking, debating, forming their arguments. Hermione would flush whenever Tom outwitted her, which occurred far more than she liked, and Tom would furrow his brow when she presented him with an impossibility. The boy didn't seem to accept that there were some realms of magic that couldn't be breached, there were some things that could never be altered. As a stickler for rules and directions, Hermione clashed terribly with Tom's bizarre view about magic, both Dark and Light. He seemed to suggest that anything could be done, as long as one were willing to experiment.

"It cannot be done!" she cried out, exasperated at his recent theories. It was two thirty now, by her watch, and the couple had moved around the room a lot during their discussion. To help prove their ideas, they had plucked books from the shelves and left them open on random tables and chairs. The furniture itself was different, they had transfigured the heavy armchairs into a large, plush settee - she had made it red, he insisted it were made green, so they had compromised with a strange half-and-half combination. The main desk was much lower, allowing them to rest their feet and books on it. Both of them had discarded their robes, and were now lounging casually on either end of the sofa. Tom let out a chuckle, rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, grabbed his wand and pushed himself up to a standing position.

"Cup your hands," he said, motioning to her. She complied with a scoff, sure of his defeat this time. Her confidence faltered when a burst of pink sparks surrounded her curved palms. A red orb took shape between her fingers, very sketchily at first, but it slowly gained solidity, colours twisting and turning until - there it was. An apple, a very real apple, sat shining in her hands. Hermione's mind was sent reeling - this defied everything she had read about.

"B-but-" she began, looking wildly, excitedly towards the now-smug Tom. "You shouldn't be able to do this! This defies Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, how on Earth did you do this?"

Tom shrugged and plonked back down at the end of the sofa. "A lot of practice."

Hermione shook her head. Tom gestured to her, and she brought the apple to her mouth, biting down hard. Sweet juice covered her tongue, the tough skin wedged itself between her large front teeth - it was real, that could not be denied. She couldn't believe her eyes - this boy was brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

"Tell me how you did that, Tom," she demanded, placing the apple on the small table in front of her. The boy sank back into his seat, flicking his legs up so he was now in a half laid down position, propping himself up on his elbow. As they met each other's gaze, Hermione could see tiredness in his dark eyes.

"How about we discuss that another time, Hermione? I apologize, but I am awfully tired and it's rather detailed," he said, mouth stretching into a yawn. Hermione smiled at him, eyes crinkling in a kind expression.

"Of course, sorry. That was just - I would be most interested to learn, if you're willing to teach me," she said, leaning back in her own seat. As quietness settled between the two of them, she felt her own eyes begin to droop. Sleep started to prickle her mind and she swung her own legs up to rest beside Tom's, barely noticing how he kept his eyes firmly on her. He nudged her thigh with his knee, and she opened her eyes to look at him. "Sorry, Tom. I felt quite tired all of a sudden."

"It's not a problem, I'm nearly dropping off myself," he began, pausing momentarily. He looked down at his hands and twisted his long, pale fingers together before looking back towards the girl. "I have a lot of classes and studying to do tomorrow, do you?"

"Yes, tons," she replied, happily. Tom chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"Would you like to meet tomorrow, at some point when we're both free? If it's not too bold of me - I mean, you did say you'd like to learn about - uh, and we can just talk. It's nothing-"

"Of course," she interrupted, grinning. His mumbling was rather lovely. She realised he must've just been trying to convey that he was only offering a platonic meeting, but he was too polite to say it outright. The notion he was trying to ask her on a study date was preposterous. Hermione had accepted, whilst her friends found love and sex around her, that she would remain alone. Her body had never meant as much to her as her brain, so she found solace within her books, despite the growing feelings of lust and want. This new boy certainly was beautiful, but obviously unattainable - she wouldn't humour herself to think otherwise. He was just a lonely, good-looking Slytherin who needed a friend. "It's just one person imparting knowledge to another, after all. No need to think of it as anything else."

Tom smiled, wearily, eyes betraying how tired he was. "I'm busy for most of the day, do you think you would be available for another late night excursion?" he asked, leaning his dark curls against the pillow under his shoulders.

"Are you suggesting I flout curfew, Tom?" she asked, grinning.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing," he replied, innocently. He winked at her, sending a strange shiver up her spine and heat into her cheeks.

"Well, yes. In here, again?" she said.

He shook his head. "Bit dangerous to prowl around the Restricted Section two nights in a row, methinks. How about...do you know about the Come-and-Go Room?"

"The Room of Re-"

"Requirement, yes. How about there? It will give us far more room to...practice," he said.

Hermione frowned. "I didn't wish to practice, just see how you performed that one spell. I already said that I don't appro-"

"Alright, alright. I guarantee I can twist your arm, though," Tom said, crossing his arms across his chest and shuffling into a more comfortable position. Hermione sucked in a breath, suddenly very aware of how close their legs were. "Look, how about this - I'll teach you as much as you want to learn about dark magic. You don't have to practice yourself, you can just watch me."

Hermione pondered it for a moment, before nodding. "How did you begin to learn so much, Tom?"

"I-my old school thought it appropriate to learn a little and to let students enrich their minds on any subject matter," he replied, turning his gaze away from her for the first time in a while. "And I have my own interest, just like yourself. Academic."

"Of course. And, well, what would you want in return?" she questioned. He wouldn't expect to give something for nothing, surely - he was a Slytherin, after all. Even if he seemed to be more amicable than most.

"A friend."

"Oh." Hermione smiled at him, leaning her head to the side in a similar fashion to him. "You don't have to ask for friendship, Tom. Being equally bold, you're one of the most interesting people I've met as of late."

"Interesting?" he asked, with a yawn.

"Well, um, you know. Intelligent, you seem to know a lot about...a lot."

"Does intelligence make someone interesting, Miss Granger?"

"Well, of course intelligence alone doesn't - I mean - um. Oh, you know what I mean!" she said, heat rising in her cheeks as she began to get flustered. Tom smirked at her, mockingly, but strangely soft around the edges. He shifted slightly, drawing himself up, in order to unlace his smart black brogues and remove them from his feet, throwing them to the floor beside him. Hermione noticed he muttered a hushed spell under his breath, and watched as his shoes marched up to the edge of the table on their own. They clicked together at the heel, before turning lifeless once more. The girl looked back at Tom, who was making himself more comfortable on the sofa, his long legs swinging up beside her hips.

"That was very lovely magic," Hermione said, nodding to his shoes. Tom frowned a little.

"It is convenient, but hardly powerful or advancing."

"But-"

"But, lovely nonetheless," he finished, head resting back against the sofa cushion. Hermione smiled at the boy as he shut his eyes. He looked exhausted, dark circles tainted the skin under his eyes, his skin looked withdrawn and so pale it could have been deemed sickly. She rather liked it, it made the dark features of his face stand out more. As if hearing her thoughts, his shark-like eyes sprung open, meeting her gaze. "Well, I would appreciate someone to talk to. It's been a long time since I had a proper friend. And I do not mind imparting what I know, it'd be my pleasure."

Hermione practically beamed at him. She couldn't quite get her head around why the boy wanted her as a friend, but she wouldn't question it. He had a lot of power, a lot of knowledge that she craved - plus, her recent distance from Harry and Ron had left her lonely. Why shouldn't she spend time with the Slytherin? "Well, it'd be lovely to have a new friend."

They didn't say anything further, merely smiled at each other and turned their heads away to rest. Tom flicked his wand in the air quickly and the lights around them extinguished. Hermione let out a deep sigh, nuzzling her head further into the pillow. With her sight now cut off, every other sense was heightened

Morning came in an instant, bright sunlight falling over the transfigured sofa and awakening the bushy-haired Gryffindor that lay upon it. Hermione rubbed her eyes, gently prying the sleep from the corners. She stretched out, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on her skin, jumper bunching up around her waist, exposing the tucked-in shirt underneath. This didn't feel like her bed, she thought, finally cracking open an eye to survey her surroundings. And no, this certainly wasn't her room. Of course, she'd fallen asleep in the library! With a groan, she swung her legs down onto the flooring, hand moving to straighten her hair. Her shining watch caught her eye - eight o'clock - one hour until her first class. She shook her head and got to her feet, promising to herself to never fall asleep in library again. The girl gathered her bag and books, turning to the door that led out of the Restricted Section.

"Oh, wait!" she said, whirling back towards the sofa. Tom. Where was Tom? His place on the sofa had been vacant - perhaps he had taken his leave earlier this morning. Hermione sighed, she knew he would never follow up with his offer, why would he? She was far too dowdy and fusty. A part of her had hoped that Tom would enjoy her company if only for her mind, but that didn't seem to be the case at all. He was probably just bored. He wasn't - her eyes fell onto the space where he'd fallen asleep, gaze lingering on a tiny piece of folded paper. She recognized the thick parchment from his notebook, so bent to pick it up and unfold it.

_Dear Hermione, _

_I tried not to wake you, but apologies if I disturbed your slumber in any way. I'm afraid I had to leave early in order to get a piece of work in on time. If you're still available this evening, I'll be waiting outside the Great Hall at seven, after dinner. Maybe we'll get in before curfew strikes this time. _

_A pleasure to have met you. _

_Your Friend, _

_Tom Smith. _

Hermione's heart leapt in her chest, though she quickly battered it down again. No reason to get flustered over a pretty face, she told herself, he only wanted a friend. Stuffing the note into her satchel, she tore out of the library and towards the Gryffindor Common Room.


	3. Slughorn

Her classes seemed to drag on endlessly that day. She couldn't figure out exactly why she was looking forward to seeing Tom again - curiosity, perhaps? He was a rather mysterious figure, after all. Or simple excitement at having a new friend? Hermione sighed and sat back in her seat, turning her head to look at her two best friends. The trio were sat in a line, watching their new Transfiguration teacher wave his wand excitedly in the air, tracing a pattern for them all to copy. It was odd, not having McGonagall teach them anymore, but her retirement had been coming for an awfully long time. The poor woman was so frail in body, but so alive in her mind and the contrast seemed to have completely broken her. When she left, she had told Hermione, _"Never grow old. You'll lose your mind whether you like it or not." _There were rumours that the Scot had been seeing people that weren't there, hearing voices. One night, not long after the death of the Ravenclaw girl, she had been found running through the corridors by a prefect, tears streaming down her face and no memory of where she had been. Poor woman, she thought, such a brilliant mind. Hermione swore that she would never get like that, she'd find a way to preserve her mind, brain-training or a spell, or something...She rolled her eyes slightly as the new teacher set them to work - she'd learnt this months ago.

Ron let out a groan, startling her from her thoughts. "Bloody thing won't change," he snapped, pointing at the goblet on his desk. Hermione frowned and flicked her wand carelessly towards the candle in front of her. Almost instantly it morphed into a tiny, fluffy yellow duckling. The dear little thing began squawking at the red-head, waddling forwards, off the desk and straight into his lap where it flopped around like a fish. Ron yelped, and placed the bird back on the table, his cheeks now flushed an angry shade of scarlet. "Show off."

Hermione didn't reply, just waved her wand and returned the duck into its original state. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, looking away from his own chick, which was an unfortunate shade of green with only one leg. The poor thing flapped its stubby little wings around wildly, only managing to turn in circles. "You okay, 'Mione? You're awfully quiet," he said. He had a genuine expression on his face - Harry had always been a good friend to her, even if he was a little distracted by his girlfriend these days.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry, I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night," she replied, cheeks flushing, though not quite to the same impressive shade as Ron's.

"You're all red, 'Mi," Harry chuckled, green eyes catching her own. "Got something to tell us?"

"What?" she began, noticing how both boys raised their eyebrows at her. "Oh don't be stupid, I was just-"

"In the library," Ron butted in. Had his tone been jovial, then the statement might have been comic. Unfortunately, his dry, callous voice only caused sadness to well up in her chest. She could see the accusation in his watery, blue eyes, and the hidden comment in his words: _And that's where you'll always be. On your own, with your books. _

"Quite," she mumbled, weakly. Harry noticed her distress and nudged Ron hard in the ribs with his elbow, hissing at him under his breath. The red-head yelped in pain and pushed his friend back, earning them both a stern look from their teacher. Hermione turned back to her work and mindlessly began flicking through the pages, drowning out the voices of her friends with her own thoughts. At least she would get to see Tom tonight, someone who understood what it was like to be lonely, even in your own House. A small part of her, she couldn't help but admit, was excited because a handsome boy had asked her to meet him. If she pushed all voices of reason from her head, then she could imagine, if only for a moment, that this were some kind of study date. It wasn't wrong of her, was it - to hope that a boy might like her company simply because he enjoyed being around her, as a person. Not because he needed her to help with his homework, or to pick at her brains for his own gain - but because he thought her clever. Because he was clever, and they would always find something to talk about. Her mind drifted back to the way he had sprawled out so comfortably with her on the sofa in the library. Tom must be used to attention if he could act so easy around a complete stranger. She guessed he probably got most of that attention from the female sex. He could have anyone he wanted with those big, dark eyes and those plump, pink lips that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about...

_You're getting ahead of yourself here, girl! Snap out of it! _

Ah, there was the voice of reason. She spent the rest of the lesson scolding herself internally for daring to think anything more of Tom's note and his offer to meet again.

"C'mon, 'Mione. Potions next, last one of the day," Harry said, gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. Hermione jumped, she had been far too lost in her own thoughts to notice that the lesson had ended and she had just been sitting in her sit like a rag doll.

"Sorry, Harry," she said, stuffing her belongings in her bag and standing up to her friend. He gave her a large smile, and comfortingly patted her arm again.

"He'll stop being an utter prat one day," Harry whispered, nodding his head towards the departing Ron. "He's just a bit touchy because you, uh, rejected him."

"I did nothing of the sort!" Hermione hissed back. "He never gave any sign of liking me, so how was I to know? I'm not particularly educated in the realm of relationships, if you hadn't noticed!"

Harry sighed, as the two headed out of the Transfiguration classroom and down the staircase towards the Dungeons. "Sorry, I know. Ron's just Ron. He's always been be Ron and Ron he shall stay."

Hermione smiled back at her friend weakly as the light around them got dimmer and dimmer. They appeared to be the first people here, thanks to Harry's expansive knowledge of all the shortcuts in Hogwarts. Her friend excused himself to dash to the Boy's Lavatory before class began, leaving her alone in the corridor. Potions had been another change - Snape had finally been made Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, much to their chagrin. DADA had been one of their favourite classes, despite the ever-changing subject leaders, but the surly, greasy-haired man still wore a look of pure hatred whenever he saw Harry, and he could barely muster a smile when he looked her Hermione either. It didn't make for a very pleasant atmosphere, to say the least. Snape had been replaced by an old Hogwarts teacher that Dumbledore had coaxed back into the school, announcing that there was no-one else suitable for the role. Horace Slughorn was an odd sort of man, very large and pudgy, he reminded Hermione of a beanbag. However, she could not deny that he was an excellent tutor in his field, Potions had been a lot more jovial and less sinister since his arrival.

She pushed open the door to the classroom, to see Slughorn standing with a terrified expression on his face. He was white, mouth agape, as if he had seen a ghost. She heard a voice, low and dangerous speaking to him.

"So, Professor, you see-" the voice said, before pausing. Evidently, she had caused the distraction.

Hermione moved further into the classroom to see what had disturbed the man so, only to see her new friend standing in front of his desk. Tom's dark head turned to face her. His face was clouded with anger until he caught her eye and then a dazzling smile settled over his features. Hermione smiled back at him, quirking an eyebrow at the same time - why was Slughorn so petrified?

Tom turned his back on Hermione, looking back towards Slughorn, whose face dropped from its shocked expression to one of placidity. A strange dull sheen glazed over his eyes, just for a moment, then that familiar smile of his broke out once more and the man began to chuckle heartily.

"Of course, how could I possibly deny a new student a place in my NEWT class? And one with such excellent grades, how could I possibly? My boy, Tom, did you say? Take a seat anywhere you like, class will begin shortly!" the Professor said, turning Tom around and clapping him on the back. Hermione frowned, confused at Slughorn's sudden change of mood - it was all very...odd. The thought was cleared from her mind as Tom walked towards her, his long fingers grasping at the leather handle of his satchel. He looked far livelier today, his cheeks were full of colour, eyes free of the dark circles that had plagued him the previous evening.

"How lovely to see you again so soon, Hermio- Miss Granger," he said, smoothly. "Would it be terribly rude of me to request a seat next to you?"

Hermione beamed at him, gesturing for him to take the seat next to her usual place. "Not at all. How come you haven't been in any of these classes before?" she asked, as Tom settled beside her. He smelt strange, old, like her favourite books in the library mixed with a sort of spicy cologne. Not many boys at Hogwarts wore aftershave, not that Tom acted or looked much like a boy. His features were refined to the highest definition, all sharp-edged cheekbones and cutting jawline and he held himself with such a tightly bound posture that he looked more like a 1920's gentleman than a Hogwarts student. Even the way he phrased his sentences was archaic.

"I took the Divination option for a couple of weeks before deciding..." he trailed off, a smirk gracing his lips. "...it wasn't quite the subject for me."

"God, I know exactly what you mean," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

"My Potions marks were always better anyway. I just didn't want to feel unchallenged by a subject. I apologize sound vain or pig-headed but, I've always been fairly gifted with Potions. So, against my better judgement I went with Divination, thinking it might prove a challenge." He leant in close to whisper in her ear. "But the only challenge was staying awake."

Hermione chuckled, ignoring the strange feeling of pleasure she took from the feeling of his breath on her skin. The rest of the students had arrived by this point, taking their seats around Tom and Hermione. Harry and Ron sat down at the other two seats on their table, both looking surprised to see another person with them. Not many people bothered to take NEWT-level Potions, most found it too difficult, or too boring, so the class was never very full and the trio had a table to themselves for the majority of the time.

"Hello," Harry said, sticking out his hand towards Tom. "You must be...new?"

Tom stared at the hand offered to him. Hermione noticed the strangest expression grace his features for a second - hatred. Utter hatred. As if he wished to rip Harry's arm out of its socket, rather than shake his hand. However, his calm returned after a pause, and he placed his hand into Harry's. "Yes, transfer. Tom Smith. You are?" he said.

"Harry Potter, and uh, this is Ron Weasley, and this is Her-"

"Hermione Granger, yes, I know. We met last night in the library," Tom finished, removing his hand and settling back into his seat. Whatever had perturbed him before had clearly vanished from his mind, he seemed quite at ease now. Ron's face turned almost purple, whilst Harry's eyebrows shot up behind his messy hair.

"Oh, right. Well," Harry stammered, eyes flicking back to Hermione, who scowled at him.

"So that's why you're always in the library," Ron said, through heavily gritted teeth.

"I got locked in because I fell asleep again," she explained, crossing her arms defensively. "So did Tom, we only met last night."

"And why is he sitting with us, he's a snake?" Ron snapped, eyes boring into the House badge on Tom's chest.

"Ron, don't be so ru-" Harry began.

"_Because, _Ronald, the Slytherin lot are arseholes who aren't particularly amicable to anyone. Let alone a transfer student," she spat back at him.

"I can sit somewhere else, if your boyfriend finds me to be a problem? I'm sorry to have caused an argument," Tom said, yawning slightly. Ron glared at him, aghast. He looked so casual and relaxed, sitting there as they argued about him. The word 'boyfriend' hung in the air, causing Hermione to hang her head sadly.

"We're not, I mean, Hermione and I are not...together," Ron said, sitting back in his seat, shoulders slumping a little.

"And of course you can sit here," Harry said, with a smile. "Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of ours."

Ron didn't look as if he agreed with Harry at all, in fact, he looked like he wanted to hex Tom to the next century, but he didn't say another word. Hermione sighed, miserably. If there had been any, slim chance of this boy liking her, her idiotic friend had demolished it. The table of friends worked in silence for the rest of the lesson, the only sound pervading their quarter of the room was the bubbling and popping of the potion they were asked to brew. Slughorn ended the class, and, with a flick of his wand, their cauldrons were sent into the store cupboard in order to prove overnight.

"Your success will be determined tomorrow!" the Professor said, merrily. "Don't forget, whoever brews the most potent mixture will receive the prize!"

Tom leant into Hermione's side and whispered, "What's the prize?"

"Oh, it was mentioned last time. A vial of liquid luck, otherwise known as Feli-"

"Felix Felicis," Tom finished her sentence in advance. He seemed to be making a habit of doing that.

"I take it that you're competitive, Mr Smith?" she asked, noticing how the boy's eyes focused on Slughorn, a greedy smile on his face. Tom looked back toward her and rolled his eyes.

"What's life without a little competition?"

He leant away from her and began to pack his books into his bag. Hermione noticed the mottled black diary sitting open on the desk, pages as blank as they had been yesterday. "Do you not write in that thing?" she asked, pointing at the book, whilst gathering up her own belongings.

"Of course I do, it's my diary, I keep it every day," he replied, closing said book shut and slipping it into his bag.

"But, I never saw anything in it? Sorry again for peeking, by the way."

"Not a problem, it's charmed so nothing can be revealed unless I want it to. And it's not the sort of diary to be written in. I use it to store memories, thoughts, odds and ends that I can see visually, rather than having to spend a while coming up with a fanciful prose telling of events. It's sort of like a paper Pensieve, I suppose, the only difference being that it is for my eyes alone. Unless I invite someone in with me, of course," he explained, pointing to his head.

"That's marvelous!" Hermione exclaimed, as the two of them got to their feet and strolled out into the corridor. The bushy haired girl was so caught up in their conversation that she barely noticed how her best friends gaped at her exit with the dark-haired Tom.

"Perhaps I can show you how it works tonight," Tom said, in a hushed voice.

"You still want to-?"

"I don't see why not."

Hermione smiled, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded against her chest. Tom smirked at her so smugly, she swore that he must have been able to hear it. "Are you going to dinner?" she blurted out, as they reached the stairway that led out of the Dungeons. Tom stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her.

"Dinner?" he said, lips curving into a smile.

"Yes I mean, dinner as in-"

"I know what dinner mea-"

"-tea, supper-"

"I am quite aware of-"

"I mean, would you like dinner?"

"I would."

"No, I mean," she gasped, exasperated. "Would you like to come to dinner, now...with me?"

"I'm afraid not, I have other things to see to in the Common Room," he said. Hermione visibly deflated, her one attempt to ask him to do something had failed spectacularly. Just let him do the directing, she thought, or you'll turn him off completely.

"Oh. Right. Well, don't forget to eat at some point," she breathed, trying to cover up her fluster.

"It is no problem - I have a trick up my sleeve," he said, playfully. Tom flicked his wand without a word, and reached into the large, billowing sleeve of his robe. He pulled out a long thin stick, to which was attached a piece of chocolate, moulded in the shape of a wizard's hat. He offered the lollipop to her with a wide grin, pleased at the expression of wonderment on her face.

"I still cannot believe this," she stated, taking the chocolate from him, eyes wide with excitement. "You'll definitely tell me how, won't you?"

"You ask so nicely, Hermione, how could I deny you?" he replied. "You act as if I am a magician, not a wizard. These things are not impossible, if you only strive to break the rules once in a while. Catch up with your friends and have dinner, it may be a long night. Seven, outside Great Hall."

With that, he nodded curtly at her and started trudging towards the Slytherin Common Room. Hermione watched his retreating back, until she could only hear his footsteps, clacking in the distance. A hand on her shoulder brought her from her reverie. She span around on her heel to come face to face with Harry, who now had Cho wrapped around one arm, and Ron, who was now back to his normal colour and flanked by Lavender Brown.

"Great Hall?" Harry asked.

"Sure," she replied. She stood in between the two couples as they made their way to dinner, disliking this sudden sense of loneliness that crept over her. She had blocked any feeling of intimacy or sentiment for such a long time that even this tiny, flickering hope was enough to make her emotions run riot. The walk was tense, quiet. She could feel Ron silently seething beside her, so she refused to look at him. It wouldn't do to constantly start arguments with the boy, he had once been such a good friend to her. Or had he? When they were children he had constantly berated her for being 'a smart-arse' and as they had grown up he had buried his feelings for her inside other girls. If only he had said something - how was she to understand his bizarre approach to courting? Ugh, she thought, it was too late now anyway. He had Lavender.

The Great Hall was lit in in the usual manner, though the sky above them was clearer than it had been for the past two days. Candles danced around their heads and the smell of food instantly sent Hermione's stomach raving. The group sat down together at the Gryffindor table. No-one seemed to mind inter-House mixing these days, apart from Slytherin,_ of course, _so no-one batted an eyelid at Cho's presence.

"So," Ron began, almost as soon as Hermione began tucking into her plate of food. He was sat opposite her, flanked by Cho and Lavender, whilst she sat with Harry on one side and Ginny Weasley on the other. Ginny was involved in some deep conversation with Seamus Finnigan, regarding the newest Chaser of some Quidditch team she had never heard of and Harry was busy staring into Cho's eyes as they held hands across the table - she was cornered and alone. Great.

"So, what, Ronald?" she sighed, taking a sip of apple juice. Pumpkin had never been to her taste.

"So who's Lover-Boy?" he hissed.

"Who?"

"That Slytherin idiot we met earlier!"

"Oh, Tom. He told you his name Ron, do try to remember."

Ron flushed and his tone grew louder, distracting Harry and Cho from one another. "I mean - how are you two friends?"

"We met in the library last night, I told you," Hermione replied, looking down at her meal and prodding a piece of chicken with her fork. All of a sudden she wasn't hungry.

"I bloody know what you bloody told me!" Ron snapped, drawing her attention back up to him. "Well, what did you do to become _such good friends_?"

Hermione scoffed and glared at him. "Don't be so vulgar. We just sat and discussed some of the recent articles by-"

"You sat and read books?" Ron butted in.

"Not exactly, we sort of debated things and-"

"Oh, I see," Ron said, with a triumphant smirk. The cruel smile didn't suit him, she thought. It was odd, then, how it seem to fit Tom's face so well. Ron visibly relaxed and settled back into his chair, throwing an arm around the back of Lavender's seat. "Did he fall asleep as you rambled on?"

"Ron!" Harry hissed.

Hermione's glare dropped. Why yes, Tom had fallen asleep on her. Perhaps she had bored him to exhaustion last night, perhaps - but no! He still wanted to meet this evening! "No, he didn't, Ronald. He actually listened to the things I had to say, unlike some."

"Come on 'Mione. Are you really going to pursue someone like Tom Smith? I'm just trying to save you from humiliating yourself, here. I mean..." he trailed off, raising his eyebrow at her. "Look at him. Even I can't deny the guy has is pretty handsome. And well, you're more sort of-"

"Ron, shut up," Harry snapped. His words were hissed with such conviction that Ron finally ceased his tirade, rolling his eyes. He looked away from Hermione, and began to wolf down his dinner. Harry looked at Hermione, gaze filled with concern. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," the girl replied, stiffly. Ron was right, Tom was far too good to even look at her. But she had resigned herself to this fact the moment she'd clapped eyes on him. She was no fool, not even to herself. Her eyes turned back to meet Ron, as he stuffed his mouth with mashed potato. "And, for your information, Ron - I know that Tom will never be interested in me. He just wants a friend, he's made that quite clear. And frankly, that's all I want! Just a person with some sense who will talk to me about the things I care about - and if you can't be bothered to try and do that, then someone else will do!"

With tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Hermione grabbed her book bag and stormed out of the Great Hall, not waiting to listen for any response. As she rounded the corner that led to Hogwarts' many staircases, a hand shot out to grab her shoulder. A small yelp left her mouth as she was whirled around to face the owner of the hand.

"Going somewhere?" Tom asked, quirking a dark brow.

Hermione winced, he was really the last person - after Ron - that she wanted to see right now. A hot bath and cosy bed were what she needed to soothe her the aches of the day. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry Tom, I completely forgot," she stammered, taking a step back from him, one hand brushing her hair back into place.

He smiled at her and shook his head. "No problem. Are you ready to go?" he asked, gesturing to the doorway. Hermione took in a deep breath and sniffled slightly, trying to blink back her tears before he would see. "Are you alright, Hermione? Have I upset you?"

A rogue tear had strayed down her face and caught his attention. He brought his hand up to her cheek and one long finger delicately brushed the offending droplet away. "No, no, it's fine. It wasn't you, honestly. I'm just...tired," she sighed, smiling at him weakly.

"Hmm. You know, a lot of people tend to pawn of their problems as 'tiredness'. But, I'll believe you if you do not wish me to press the matter further," he said. She nodded at him, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "However, I will make an educated guess and presume your friend upset you again."

"Sort of. I'm sorry, Tom, I really am. It's silly of me to get so upset over silly comments."

"Words are power, we can use them to inspire love or hate," he replied. Hermione noted the cold tinge to his voice and features. Tom was obviously intelligent and harboured an expansive mind - but he didn't seem overly...emotional. Every sentence he spoke was blunt, to the point, raw. She imagined that if Tom's words hurt it would be only because of their unbearable truth, not his own personal cruelty. "Let me escort you back to your Common Room."

"Oh, Tom, look it's no matter, we can still go and-"

"Hermione, you look like you're about to fall asleep where you stand. Two late nights in a row is probably not the wisest thing to do," he stated, ushering her towards the staircases with an outstretched arm. They began the ascent to the Gryffindor Common Room together, Tom striding confidently ahead, whilst Hermione trailed slightly with a disappointed, but tired look on her face. "But look, tomorrow is Saturday and if you aren't huddled up with homework, we can always reschedule to tomorrow afternoon - gives you a chance to get some rest, I mean, I'll need your magic on top form if you are to even stand a chance of learning anything. That, and you look like you've been dragged backwards through a hedge at present." He winked at her, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

Hermione chuckled. "Oh yes, well one simply _must _get her beauty sleep or she shall turn into a pumpkin."

They arrived outside of the Fat Lady's portrait. Tom turned to face her, placing his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Exactly. And you are far too pretty to become a pumpkin. It makes me feel guilty for keeping you up late," he chuckled, darkly. Hermione laughed, nervously, as Tom reached forward and took one of her hands in his own. Slowly, he bowed his head and pressed his lips gently against her knuckles. "Until tomorrow then, goodnight Miss Granger. We shall say twelve thirty, in this very spot?"

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that ran across her skin when his lips met her hand. No getting enamored, she told herself, you'll just get yourself hurt. _Grow a spine, woman! _"Yes, that sounds great. I'll see you then, Tom - goodnight!" she said, dashing inside the portrait as quickly as she could. Her heart was racing, blood rushing through her veins so fast she became light-headed. He was divine, he was sending her silly teenage hormones out of control, she was losing it. The girl breathed in deeply as she climbed the stairs to her dormitory - she wasn't some chirpy little girl like Lavender Brown, surely? No, she was Hermione Granger, book-worm extraordinaire, first in everything, potential cat-lady. As the pain of the day settled in, she flopped down onto her bed, face first, not bothering to take her clothes off, to brush her teeth, or even to move. All she wanted now, was sleep.

That was the first night she dreamt of Tom.

(Hello readers. Essentially, the first two chapters are Hermione's POV. The next shall be from Tom's and many questions shall be answered!)


	4. Tom

Tom smiled at the bushy-haired Gryffindor as she disappeared behind the portrait to her Common Room, waiting until she was completely out of sight before his features dropped into a passive, emotionless expression. Without further hesitation, the boy turned on his heel and made his way back toward the moving staircases. Hastily, Tom navigated the many corridors and arrived at the seventh floor. He made his way through the Hall of Hexes, flicking his wand to extinguish the torches on the walls as he passed them, eventually reaching his destination - the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Tom closed his eyes and walked down the middle of the darkened corridor three times and then turned his back on the tapestry and watched as two ornate doors began to materialize in the blank space before him. After a pause, he clasped the golden handle in his hand and walked into the room that had been his home for the past few weeks. He had discovered the Come-And-Go Room during his time at school, and it had certainly come in handy in his current situation.

After he had crawled from that diary onto Amy Benson's lifeless form, he had barely been able to walk. Tom Riddle had never been helpless in his entire life, yet there he had been, naked, panting for breath and barely able to move. He'd felt drained, as if a Dementor had been sucking at his guts for a week. The horcrux wasn't meant to operate like that, it was meant to restore a person to their original state by drawing in the pieces of soul that existed in the world which hadn't already been split into other items. In short, the Voldemort wandering the earth would drop dead and the piece of soul inside him would be spirited to restore power and memory to the diary horcrux. Tom knew that an older piece of his soul must have been roaming the earth, but when he had been restored and the two pieces of soul had aligned once more - _damn! _Memories flooded into Tom's mind, glimpses of his followers taking down the Order of the Phoenix, of battles and destruction, then finally - a woman shrieking for her son. A baby looking up at him with wide, green eyes. Voldemort had raised his wand and then...darkness. Agony beyond belief. Tom realised, as the two pieces of soul reconnected, that Voldemort had been weakened, he was incorporeal, he was dying. And now the blasted piece of soul was draining him of energy!

He'd looked down at Amy Benson, who was glassy eyed and breathless. He realised that he would need to feast again soon, in order to find a solution to his problem. Mustering the tiny amount of strength he had left, Tom had raised himself from the bed and stumbled out of the Ravenclaw Common Room, grabbing a robe to hide himself before he left. Luckily for him, the students appeared to be dining, so he had clumsily dragged himself to the Room of Requirement, deeming it the only safe place to remain concealed. He hadn't seen what the place had created for him at first, he'd simply fallen through the door straight onto a comfortable bed. Tiredness took him quickly and he drifted out of consciousness. After a couple of days in a dreamless sleep, Tom had woken, somewhat revitalized and taken in his surroundings. The Room had taken the form of the old Slytherin Common Room, though it now also held a huge queen sized-bed in one corner of the room. The place was complete with a Potions cabinet, gargantuan fire-place, numerous book-shelves, green and silver decor and the cobbled stone floors with which he had grown so familiar. A smile had almost flitted onto his face - this place had been the closest Tom ever had to a home. On his first conscious evening within his new lodgings, Tom had conjured himself a meal, sat in front of the fireplace and read a book. The casual behaviour seemed very odd to him, but there was really nothing else he could do until he formulated a working plan.

The Common Room held many surprising treats for him, things his subconscious must have requested when he fell through the door. A large walk-in cupboard was situated near to the Potions Cabinet, and was filled with trinkets of all sorts, most importantly - a selection of clothes. After donning underclothes, he had pulled on a pair of black trousers with matching, shiny black shoes, a white shirt and green sweater-vest. He felt a strange lump form in the pocket of his trousers, and reached down to discover what was going on. A happy smile formed around his lips as his hand clenched around the handle of his yew wand. Everything was as it should be.

On the back of the door sat a large mirror, which he took time examining his reflection in. The seventeen Tom Riddle looked back at him, handsome as ever, with a smug expression plastered on his face. The memories he had obtained from the elder Voldemort were troubling to his vanity, he remembered the sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes and they caused a shudder to run down his spine. He vowed not to let that happen again - things were far easier when he was good looking, it was easier to charm and persuade with a pretty, trusting face. Yes, his personality and authority was charismatic enough, but any features that assisted him in his rise to glory were assets not to be lost so easily. No, he could not let himself fail like before, this was a new chance to rise, to shine, to be the best.

Then, his heart skipped a beat. Tom raised a hand to his chest and began to panic as the fluttering heart returned to normal. The dying piece of soul was still draining him, making him weak. He shut his eyes and began to formulate a plan in his mind - he needed to separate the two pieces of soul that were stuck together inside him. The dying piece could rot, for all he cared, that piece was foolish, reckless with his power. But of course, the thing could not die. Well, he would have to make it into a horcrux then, albeit a fairly useless one. He would have to store the elder Voldemort's memories in a container to be re-digested after the process had been done, for he would lose every bit of knowledge the other piece of soul had as soon as they became separate entities. Then he would be purely Tom.

That would have to be it - there was no other way. It only seemed fair to re-use his diary as a horcrux...but - Tom looked back at the bed he had fallen asleep on. There was only the robe he had grabbed from the Ravenclaw door, and nothing else. He had left the blasted diary in the girl's room! The boy let out an angry yell and slammed his fists into the door of the cupboard, one fist accidentally colliding with the attached mirror. He withdrew his hand quickly, hissing in pain as blood rolled down his pain skin. The shatter in the mirror was tinged red, cracks streaming down the surface, skewering his reflection in half. The weakness had hit him so hard, he would never usually be so careless.

The next week had been spent perusing the Hogwarts corridors under a disillusionment charm, trying to avoid everyone he came into contact with. Hunting down the book was difficult, so hard in fact, he had to make himself visible to students every now and then to ask for more information. Slowly but surely, Tom integrated himself into the school, helped by the fact that the teachers who had known him were all out of the school. The diary had apparently been mistaken as one of the girl's textbooks and, along with her other study materials, had been placed back into the library. One night, he had left his quarters and headed for the library, only to have a hand placed on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, you aren't supposed to be out this late," a high-pitched Scottish tone said behind him. Tom paled slightly, recognizing the authoritative tone at once. _Minerva._ He had heard the rumours of her senility throughout his mingling with other students and his devious mind quickly formulated a plan as he turned to face her. The woman's mouth dropped open in shock as she caught a first glimpse of him. Tom swept his hair away from his forehead and smiled widely at the woman.

"What's the matter Minerva? You look like you've seen a ghost," he asked, feigning innocence.

The woman started to tremble slightly, as she gasped for air and struggled for words. Tom took a step closer to her and let out a chuckle as she backed away from him and began fumbling in her nightgown for her wand.

"You know, Minerva, the years haven't been as kind to you as they have to me," he said, jovially mocking her.

"How?" she managed to blurt out, voice thick with fear.

"How what? I'm sorry, dear, but you'll have to be a little more specific."

"How are you here, Tom Riddle?" she gasped, as if the name which hadn't left her lips for years was cursed. "You're dead - you're old!"

"Evidently not. Now..." he replied, voice now turning cold. This woman thought Voldemort was weak - he'd show her otherwise. A toothy grin spread across his face, pupils dilating to give him a somewhat shark-like quality. "Run."

McGonagall let out a yelp as he raised his yew wand towards her. The older woman didn't obey his order, but tried to fight instead, though her slow reactions were hardly a match for his. He obliviated any memory of their meeting from her head, and sent a stunner to knock her into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the ruckus had caused the night to be too dangerous to continue, and he returned to the Room of Requirement to begin his expedition again tomorrow.

His days were spent sleeping, reading and practicing magic in all forms. He re-read many dark textbooks, tried to formulate ways to break the other Laws of Transfiguration, brewed potion after potion, just incase he would need them. Tom was always most comfortable in his own company, it gave him space to think, to breathe. He prided himself on his solitude and his ability to keep his baser emotions at bay, though sometimes he allowed his mind to drift. Tom sometimes lamented his inability to have true friends, but he had convinced himself that they were pointless in the long run. Followers were easier to handle. He didn't need to speak to anyone, he didn't need sex, or other physical pleasures to keep him happy.

The following evening, Tom had entered the library and waited until everyone departed before venturing off between the shelves to find his diary. After a while of hunting high and low within the standard areas, he made his way to the Restricted Section, only to find some strange girl writing in his notebook. His weak heart had started to flutter again, and he had called out to her. There was no need to attack at every given moment, as she was a girl, Tom decided simply asking for the book would work best, after all, it was only a book at the moment. She was odd, Hermione. Flustered, she had returned the book to him almost immediately, even stopping to apologize to him. And she was reading about dark magic. In the Restricted Section. After hours. Intriguing.

A thought had entered Tom's head at that moment - what exactly was his plan after he became stable in body? He could hardly run off and find his imprisoned followers at the drop of a hat. No, he needed new, durable, excited followers who would bow to him, who would be more powerful and less mentally unstable than the previous. He was revitalized, and so would be his cause. Hermione seemed intelligent enough, she held a conversation with him for more than two sentences, which was incredible, and she seemed eager to learn from him, especially after that Elemental Transfiguration trick. Perhaps his plan should be to reintegrate himself into the student body, yes, that might work. He had hundreds of tricks up his sleeve - what teacher would notice a transfer student with exceptional grades, especially if he implanted the memory into their minds before they started asking any questions. Meanwhile he had access to the library, all the students of Hogwarts and his dear Chamber of Secrets. He would be more than happy to reopen that if the outcome were as exciting as last time.

His heart started to tremble again and sleep threatened to take him as their conversation came to an end. She was interesting, indeed. Potentially useful. She complimented his magic, but wasn't fawning over him like Bellatrix did.

In the morning, he left the library as soon as possible and fled from the castle with his diary in hand. His long legs carried him quickly to Hogsmeade, where he immediately found a street-dweller and hauled him into an alleyway. No one would miss this lowlife, no one cared about the homeless, he thought, sending the killing curse straight into the man's forehead. As the light faded from his eyes, Tom felt the gut-wrenching pain of his soul splitting once more. The boy dropped to his knees and shakily pointed his wand towards the diary, muttering curses under his breath. The other hand moved inside his jacket, and he plucked the vial of withdrawn memories from his pocket. Uncorking the bottle with his thumb, Tom raised it to his lips as the piece of dying soul left him and transferred to the book, letting Voldemort's thoughts re-enter his head. Panting and nauseous, Tom left the scene of the crime as soon as possible, no trace of his presence left behind. His walk back reassured him of his renewed strength; reflections of him in windows revealed a more coloured pallor, his eyes were brighter and his heart was beating strongly against his chest. No more weakness, Voldemort, he told himself, this is your second chance.

In his plan to integrate himself as a student, his altercation with Slughorn had been the first step to overcome. With Minerva gone and Dumbledore present for only one day a year, the only person left who would recall his youthful exterior was his old Potions master. He needed to be taken care of immediately if this plan were ever going to work. The old codger had frozen solid, his pig like eyes widening in surprise. Sweat had broken out over his skin and for a moment Tom considered killing him, until his acquaintance from the previous evening interrupted them. Keeping his calm, it only took a moment to wash Slughorn's mind and reinsert a false memory - Voldemort had been a gifted psychological wizard, Tom was thankful for his memories of the processes involved. With a smug smile, Tom had turned to his potential follower and, for the first time, immersed himself completely as a student of Hogwarts.

Her friends were irritating. Firstly, the arrogant red-head who desperately needed a hair cut was so obviously jealous that it made Tom groan inwardly. There was no romantic intention with Hermione, he merely wanted her to be of use to him. When he had taken Abraxas Malfoy as his first follower, there was a sense of reciprocality between them: Tom had Malfoy's devotion, resources, wealth, and Malfoy had access to Tom's knowledge, to new realms of magic he barely dared to dream and power beyond belief. To his other followers, Tom was always in charge, but with Malfoy - Malfoy was the closest thing he had to a friend, until his death in 1996. He had almost felt remorse for infecting the man with something as demeaning as Dragon Pox, but he had been getting slow, tired...old. Hermione may end up in a similar position - she seemed eager to learn, powerful, intelligent, and normal enough to go unsuspected. However, he wasn't sure if she had anything to offer him in terms of wealth or influence and the fact she was a Mudblood disgusted him somewhat, but it only added to the picture of innocence he was creating - who would suspect Voldemort to associate with a muggle-born? She would be a stepping stone, someone to help cultivate an image, a mask...then he would kill her as soon as he had his new army built up. Just as it had been with Abraxas - he would get rid of his most faithful follower to teach the others the true meaning of obedience. He wasn't quite sure why he had settled on Hermione, there had been others he'd met who had caught his eye, an obvious Malfoy heir, a number of other cunning looking Slytherins...but something in his gut told him to take the girl as his first. Of course, he was getting ahead of himself and his thoughts halted abruptly when he heard the name 'Harry Potter'. It took nearly every ounce of self-control Tom possessed to shake the boy's hand.

Rage built in his stomach as he surveyed the scar on Harry's forehead. How? How had he survived whilst the other piece of his soul was left weakened and pitiful? The boy would be too suspicious to kill straight away. Tom scowled inwardly - this plan was lengthy, it required months, years of hard-work. But it was the only solution he had. Essentially, he was back to playing Tom, Head Boy, star pupil, polite, lovely, handsome Tom. As much as he hated the mask, it was fun to know the truth whilst everyone around him pandered to his whim. The moment he shook Harry's hand his plan was set in stone: he would wait. He would contact his old followers, he would find new ones here at the school, he would act, he would hang around with Mudbloods, he would reopen the Chamber of Secrets at the very last moment to tell the world that Lord Voldemort had risen once more...and when the time was right - he would reveal himself and his armies to the world, he would close off the Wizarding World to those worthy to hold magic. His eyes lingered on Hermione - and so, to begin.

His position clear and a firm connection made to the little Gryffindor, Tom locked the door to the Room of Requirement behind him and immediately flopped face down onto his bed. The effort of the past week had been tiring, and it was starting to catch up with him. He waved his hand toward the fireplace and smiled as flames sprung up in the grate - he deserved a rest. Tomorrow he would go to Slughorn and have the man insert him into the records of the school and have him draw up a timetable, he was Head of House after all. As Dumbledore was away and the Deputy Headmistress was somewhat indisposed, the action shouldn't be hard. No fuss would be made over the new student, no introductions or Sorting Ceremonies, he would merely slink in as if he'd been here all along. Tom sighed and summoned a roll of parchment and a quill from one of the desks in the corner of the room. He settled underneath the thick duvet of his bed, preparing for this to be his final stay in the Come-And-Go Room, and began to write out a list of names. If his most trusted followers were alive and out of prison, he would find a way of contacting them. He would also search the school for their relations and persuade them to join his side, his new Knights of Walpurgis. And if that didn't force their Fathers and Grandfathers back to him, then they would have to be destroyed.

_Dolohov_

_Avery_

_Nott_

_Malfoy_

_Crouch_

_Carrow_

_Crabbe_

_Black_

_Goyle_

_Lestrange_

_Yaxley_

_Pettigrew_

_McNair_


End file.
